“Oops,” she says, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She turns back to the phone, her attention immediately recaptured by the game.
I walk into the kitchen, my mind still trying to process the scene I just witnessed. I pull out the ingredients for pancakes.The sizzle of the batter on the hot griddle fills the small space, the smell a comforting promise of a normal morning.
“Play on,” I hear Liam say to Clara. A moment later, he walks into the kitchen, his movements a little stiff, but otherwise looking remarkably better than he did a few hours ago. He’s still wearing his clothes from yesterday, but his expression is clearer.
“You have a pretty cool daughter,” he says, leaning against the counter, watching me flip a pancake.
A warmth spreads through my chest, a feeling I’ve come to recognize as paternal pride. I look over at Clara, her brow furrowed in concentration, her fingers flying across the screen.
“My greatest accomplishment,” I say, a genuine smile touching my lips.
Liam pours himself a cup of coffee. “You didn’t have to do all of that,” he says, his voice low. “Last night. I appreciate it.”
“It was no trouble at all,” I say, flipping another pancake. “I’ve been in a few bad spots myself. I get it.”
He nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re a good man, Sheriff. Very noble.”
I let out a short, harsh laugh. “I’m anything but.”
“Clara told me she’s heading back to New York today,” he says, changing the subject.
I nod, a familiar pang of sadness hitting me. “Yeah. She has to go home. It’s her mom’s birthday.”
He nods. “I should probably get going then.”
“It’s too early,” I say, my mind already working. “I can give you some clean clothes. And we can drop off Clara together, since you two seem to have bonded.”
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, a look of relief washing over his face. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate. It’s the least I can do. After all, we’re all just trying to navigate the mess, one pancake at a time.
Liam
Iwatch them from the sheriff’s car, the engine a low, idle hum against the morning quiet. The airfield is small, a single runway and a building that looks more like a large shed than an airport.
Clara throws her arms around Knox’s neck, a fierce hug that makes his shoulders hunch. He buries his face in her hair, her purple tips a bright splash of color against his dark jacket.
I can’t hear their words, but I can see the way his hand tightens on her back, the way he holds on for a second too long before letting her go. He ruffles her hair, a gesture so paternal, so full of a casual, easy affection, it sends a sharp pang through my chest.
I want that.
Not just a kid. I wantthat. The easy love, the quiet moments of goodbye, the knowledge that there’s someone in the world who is yours, not in a possessive way, but in a foundational, bone-deep way.
A family.
I would never be like my father.
I would never be the source of fear, the reason for tears. I would be the safe harbor, the one who wipes away the tears, theone who shows up every single time. I would be the best father ever.
And I want that kind of family with Millie.
The thought is a sucker punch to the gut that steals my breath. It’s not a new thought, not really. It’s been there, lurking in the back of my mind for years, a half-formed dream I’ve been too scared to fully acknowledge. But now, seeing Knox and Clara, it’s crystal clear.
Fuck. It’s Millie. It has always been Millie.
I curse under my breath, the sound swallowed by the confines of the car. I pull out my phone, the screen a stark, unforgiving rectangle. Nothing from her. No texts, no calls. Just a wall of silence that feels heavier than any accusation.
Below her name in my messages is a string of unanswered texts from Maddox.
